


Touch

by Mithlomi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithlomi/pseuds/Mithlomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fimbuldraugr - The exact moment Sif chose Loki over Thor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

The battle was bloody.

Sif still feels the it coursing through her veins, the bloodlust, the heat and fire. The flames are dying, as the sting of her wounds catch her attention, the sweat cooling on her skin. It is as if wandering out of a daze. In the rush of the fight, she does not think, has no need. The air simply ripples as her blade cuts quick, piercing armour and flesh alike. She is War and she is battle and the enemy will not find mercy here.

Yet her muscles ache now, protesting against the weight of her armour, the glaive too heavy in her hands. She wanders the field, eyes barely glancing over the faces of the dead, friend and foe alike, until she reaches the encampment, the banner of Asgard furling in the wind.

It is quiet now. It always is. And the silence rings in her ears.

She blindly searches for her tent, but Thor finds her first. He too is weary yet his grin is irrepressible still. The day is won and that is enough cause for celebration. His bloody hand claps her on the back, jolting her body. She tries not to saw how much it ripples through her muscles, tingles her tired skin. Still, she flinches for a split second before giving him a grin. They are victorious. Why should she not smile?

But he noticed the way she squeezed her eyes shut and he grips her arm, concerned… only he is more forceful than he realises it and it does not help the slash on her arm from a poorly thrown knife. She had cut down the assaliant a second later but not before the damage had already been done…

She does not let him see that though, assures him she is well. Only tired. That is enough for him at the moment. He simply smiles and tells her that he must find the others. Volstagg would have a wonderful story to tell around the fire tonight and she assures him she would be there. He disappears then, into the maze of tents and she is left alone once again…

She sighs a little, letting her shoulders fall. Something… something is not quite right, and she cannot tell what it is. She doesn’t feel it the way Thor does, the same song in her heart, the same laughter on her lips as the day is won. Something is missing…

The strap of her breast plate is much too tight now and she gropes at it with blood slick fingers; she cannot find purchase, even as she drops her glaive to the ground, her frustration growing ever more that she can defeat a battlion in battle yet is thwarted by a tiny piece of leather.

It is then that Loki steps out of the long shadows and catches her out of the corner of his eye midstride. He too is battlemarked, though less so than herself and Thor, but an angry gash rests on his cheek that contrasts so perfectly with the pale of his skin it’s almost fascinating. She drops her hands, not wishing for him to see her so uncommonly defeated, and looks away. She has no energy for his games. Not now.

Yet he says nothing. Merely pauses. Blinks once. Before moving towards her. Sif does not move, raises her chin in defiance, a trait she developed as a stubborn child that she had never been able to shake… yet she cannot help but show her surprise as his clever, quick fingers make short work of the strap, her mouth dropped a little.

He does not look at her, avoids her gaze, his mouth set into a thin line as he finally realises the bonds of her breast plate and finally it feels like she can breathe. She gulps the air, tasting the tang of metallic blood still there, before she finally turns to him…

He has paused, staring at the cut on her arm with the familiar look of concentration he saves for old tomes or his practice of spells. His eyebrows furrow in the middle and his lips are parted slightly. Sif has never been this close to him before with him so still, and she studies his own wound, set against his high cheekbone. Her eyes trace it to his nose, up and along the curve of his brow, down and along his jaw.

It’s then she feels the pad of his thumb trace the torn skin and she sucks in a sharp hiss at the slight sting, taken by surprise. It breaks his concentration, and he finally, finally, meets her gaze. His eyes are wide, searching, bluer than she has ever seen them.

His hand flinches from her skin as if she is burning, yet is eyes are still impossible blue. Even as she hears his sharp, harsh words.

“You were careless today. You know it. That is why you cannot let yourself smile.” And suddenly his voice drops, uncommonly quiet, almost a whisper. “You should not be hurt.”

His hand twitches, as if reaching out to her once more, yet Sif has never been one to keep her mouth closed at the best of times and she is nowhere near that right now. She opens her mouth to speak but he is already gone, dissolving back into the shadows.

Her hand moves to cover the wound gently, the skin burning a little from his touch. He is right. The slash, as small as it is, reminds her that she is not perfect in this.

And his touch, as small as it was, as different to Thor’s as could possibly be, tells her more than she lets herself admit…


End file.
